Friday, August 29, 2008

Notes From The Bottom Drawer, "The Theme Song For My Home Town" edition

I have never been shy about admitting my humble, rural roots in much the same sense that a native New Yorker or native Texan isn't shy about admitting where they came from. I like where I come from and not a day passes that I don't wish I could transplant the wonderful life we have here to the river valley where I was born. There are so many things I would like to show the kids.

But if the truth be told, there isn't really much to recommend it. My home town has two claims to fame, one ancient and one modern. There are the Indian Mounds and Longaberger's biggest picnic basket, , not to mention the bones they dug up near there. Other than that, if you have seen corn and woods before, you've seen all there is to see.

Here is an example of some of the art we have down town on the square. In the background is a building that houses all of the county government. Across the street is the court house which is a grand example of Federalist arcitecture. To the left of the picture is a Wendy's and behind that is the office of the electric company where I worked for five months. There ends the nickel tour.

I was looking something up for another post and stumbled across a tune that struck home.

Oddly enough, I've known guys like this. They aren't the kind you hang out with much if you can avoid it.

Pablo Picasso's Last Words

And now a word from our man in the field, Bob Anderson

"There are types of innocence of which one should not be guilty." - Anon

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Words To Toast By

Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.

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He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden or silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths, Of night and light and half-light,I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams. W.B. Yeats